Afterlife Code

Ikhtisar

There is an afterlife code . . .Dr. Melanie Sage is a brilliant scientist who has developed a computer code for her brain implant to reduce the deleterious effects of her autism while improving cognition. With the help of her close friend and associate, Paula Dirac, she does the impossible: she creates an app on her smartphone to do just that.Always logical and thorough, Sage triggers the application in the presence of her therapist, Robert Cobb, to ensure her safety. Unfortunately, she is unaware that his brain implant for managing posttrauma is much older, with little shielding. When Cobb begins having what looks like a seizure, she touches him to help but completes a circuit that launches them into coexisting lives, or what passes as lives.As they pass through alternative existences, worlds where science and faith explore the edge of realities and unknown, inexplicable alternatives, they come across a man who knows them and provides them a warning to ensure they are “upgraded” when they die: “Make sure you have interesting lives and live to your fullest.”

Pratinjau Buku

Afterlife Code - J. M. Erickson

Author

Chapter One

"Just think about it. I know your work is very important, but there’s more to life."

Mother, I’m thirty-seven years old, and the chances of me having children have dwindled to nothing. Why do you keep talking about this? Dr. Melanie Sage asked. It was still morning, and she had already been up nearly all night. Her pajamas, the ones she wore during the workweek from Monday to Wednesday, still felt warm from her bed. Her bedroom looked similar to her work space, with more computers, tablets, and other computing gear. She paused to think about the level of radiation she might be getting from all the electronics that surrounded her at night but then dispelled that thought as soon as she picked up her smartphone. She regretted not checking caller identification.

I saw Gary yesterday at the library, and he was asking about you. He’s been divorced for years, and every time I see him, he asks how you’re doing.

For a moment, Sage wondered why her mother sounded muffled. A cold?

Maybe you should download your books and movies and stop going to the library.

There was a brief silence on the phone. A vague memory of a tall, dark-skinned, dark-eyed man fluttered in front of her, but she lost the image. Remembering faces had never been her strong point.

When are you coming home? Your father and I haven’t seen you in eight months, her mother said. Sage decided not to answer the question and switched topics instead.

I have isolated the majority of the code and now need more computer input and simulations to see if I can simply create a radio frequency to transmit to my implant.

To transmit what? You shouldn’t be messing with your implant. That’s a medical procedure, and I don’t want you to mess with your emotions, her mother warned.

By now, Sage had her feet comfortably in her bed/bathroom slippers and was en route to brush her teeth with her sonar brush, then do a facial scrub and fifteen-minute cleansing procedure that was so engrained she could do it in her sleep. And there had been three times she did just that.

Mother, I’m not doing any kind of surgery. I am simply transmitting a simple code that could enhance the part of my brain that helps with recognizing and engaging the neural structures to enhance their functioning. Sage struggled to keep the language simple. While her mother and father were bright, they were social workers and teachers, not computer science students.

I just think that you should not be messing with things you don’t know about.

Sage found herself taken aback. She was in front of her mirror and refocused her gaze from the matted hair and oily skin to her expression. She could identify surprise, and it was fortuitous that she was able to feel the emotion and see the corresponding reaction in the mirror.

Mother, this is coding, computer science, and radio frequencies. With two doctorates in computer science and mathematics, I think I can field this. I’ll call you on Friday at the usual time. I’m working late, so I may not answer if I’m onto something.

There was a brief silence until her mother spoke again.

All right, dear. Dad and I love you.

I love you too, Sage said. While the words came out, she was not feeling that emotion. Still, it was common-courtesy child–parent communication to terminate in this fashion, as it reduced hostility for future conversations.

Rather than waiting to hear the phone close out, Sage clicked off first. She was feeling behind in getting ready, and she wanted to start her morning waking rituals.

Why does she do that? she said.

There was no one in her apartment. She liked it that way so when she would talk to herself she never had to worry about others either hearing or criticizing. She shifted focus back on what she was doing.

I got to get going.

Chapter Two

What are you doing here?The young man was wide awake, but his face looked oily, and his hair was not combed, as if he had just woken up from a deep slumber. He was also in his underwear and T-shirt even though it was ten o’clock in the morning. In contrast stood his father, a perfectly groomed middle-aged man wearing a vintage-style three-piece suit, looking at his son with some disbelief but long-established acceptance.

Let me guess. You and your sister are working from home again? Robert Cobb said. He already knew the answer. Even though the elevator was out and he’d had to climb four flights of stairs, Cobb was not as winded as he thought he would be; the consistent choice of wearing a three-piece suit was to help cover his stomach and expanded backside. He’d been reveling in that thought when his son had abruptly opened the door.

I thought you were the pizza guy. We ordered stuff an hour ago, said.

What? It’s ten in the morning. Who orders pizza in the morning? Cobb asked.

Once inside, Cobb took in his son and daughter’s massive apartment, with its huge windows nearly boarded up to keep all natural light at bay and five visible workstations in the middle of the nearly empty living area where you would have expected expensive furnishing and entertainment centers. Instead, there were old-fashioned beanbags, sleeping bags, and the five computer stations, each holding double layers of four large monitors and networked CPUs of varying sizes with corresponding power strips taped down on an otherwise elegant hardwood floor. What struck Cobb the most was the unnatural electronic-blue lighting emanating from the three active stations. Just to add to the surreal scene, three people close to his son’s